Party Games
by dust on the wind
Summary: If you need to keep your neighbourhood Gestapo man from finding out what's really going on, there's one sure way: throw a party, and don't invite him...
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

_Hermann the chicken featured in "Don't Forget To Write" (Season 2)_

* * *

"Hey, gang, guess what? Hermann's started laying again." Carter, just back from an evening excursion outside the wire, came bustling into the radio room. As Hogan and Kinch glanced up from the radio message which had just been received, he exhibited a clean, brown-shelled egg as proof of his claim.

LeBeau reached for it. "You see? I told you he'd be happier if we made him a run out in the open. Chickens need to scratch for food, or they won't lay well. But just one egg? He will have to do better than that, if I'm going to make a cake for Newkirk's birthday."

"No, I got a couple more in my pocket," replied Carter.

"I say, you chaps are just full of surprises." The exclamation came from Lieutenant May, one of the two British airmen currently being prepared for the trip back home. "A rooster that lays eggs? How on earth did you manage that?"

"We had no choice," replied Hogan gravely. "It's an all-male camp."

Carter snickered, and LeBeau and Kinch exchanged grins. Hermann was a standing joke around Stalag 13. Just over a year had passed since some of the men, assigned to a work detail at a local farm, had managed to smuggle a pair of half-grown chicks back to camp, with the intention of fattening them for Christmas. They had named them Hermann and Heinrich, because as Newkirk pointed out, "With names like those, nobody's going to get too fond of them, so nobody will start having second thoughts about wringing their necks when the time comes."

But the great Christmas dinner had never come to pass. In November, Heinrich had made a daring escape bid, which might have worked out had he not met a fox as soon as he went over the wire. As for Hermann, he had bided his time until three days before Christmas before giving proof that whoever had declared him a rooster had been very much mistaken. At once, the bird's long-term prospects were secured, because LeBeau refused to countenance the slaughter of a laying hen. But old habits die hard, and in spite of the regularly delivered evidence of his femininity, everyone still considered Hermann to be one of the boys.

"Okay, Carter, you can go on up to the barracks. You too, LeBeau," said Hogan. "And if you want the cake to be a surprise, you'd better find somewhere safe to hide those eggs."

"You know what, Louis? I could hide them in my mattress." Carter's voice grew fainter as he headed up the ladder. "I bet Newkirk would never think to look there..."

Hogan turned his attention back to the two lieutenants, May and Clarke. "The submarine will pick you up at the rendezvous point in seventy-two hours. So we'll be sending you out tomorrow night, when the local vet comes into camp. He brings in the new guard dogs, and takes away the old ones - and you."

It would have been hard to say which Englishman looked more horrified. "You're putting us in a truck with killer dogs? " stuttered Clarke.

"Oh, they're perfectly harmless, except to the Krauts," replied Hogan. "And it's only until you get to Hammelburg. The Underground will take you on from there. It's just a shame you'll miss the birthday party."

"Colonel!" Carter came back down from above, with such haste that he missed the last step entirely. "You better come up. Gestapo just drove into camp."

"At this hour? Don't they have better things to do with their evenings?" sighed Hogan. "Excuse me, gentlemen." He nodded to Kinch, and followed Carter back up to the barracks, and into his office, where Newkirk and LeBeau were already sitting over the coffee pot which acted as a receiver for the bug in Klink's office.

"It's Hochstetter, Colonel. He's sent Schultz off to fetch Klink from his quarters," said Newkirk.

"What do you think he wants at this time of night?" asked Carter, squeezing himself into the space between Hogan and LeBeau, and leaning on the desk with both elbows.

"It might be a social call. Even the Gestapo get lonely sometimes," replied Hogan.

"Well, if he's lonely, why doesn't he just get a girlfriend, like any...oh, right, it's Hochstetter." Carter thought it over for a few seconds. "Maybe he should get a dog."

"What have you got against dogs?" said LeBeau.

"Oh, Major Hochstetter!" The Kommandant's voice, rendered tinny by the speaker, put an end to the discussion. "What on earth brings you here so late? I was just getting ready for bed..."

"Shut up, Klink," growled Hochstetter. "I am here on Gestapo business. Two prisoners escaped from Stalag 8 three days ago, the latest in a series of escapes from Luftstalags in this part of Germany. We suspect they are receiving help from an Underground group in this area."

"That's terrible. It's a disgrace. But of course, as you know, Major, there has never been an escape from Stalag 13..."

"So you keep telling me. I wonder why this is so, Kommandant? And don't say it's your ruthless efficiency."

Cut off in the middle of his stock response, Klink remained silent.

"No, it is most likely that even now your prisoners are preparing to make their move," Hochstetter went on. "Doubtless they have some kind of a plan. Perhaps they have dug a tunnel, or perhaps they have identified a blind spot along the fence, and plan to cut the wire and run for it. They may even intend to hide in one of the delivery vehicles - where are you going, Klink? Sit down at once."

"But, Major, I was just going to double the guard..." protested Klink.

"You will do no such thing," snapped Hochstetter. "You will allow the escape plan to go ahead."

"But..."

"Then we will follow the prisoners until they contact the traitors who are helping them," Hochstetter continued, ignoring the interjection. "In this way, the whole Underground gang will be apprehended."

"Major Hochstetter, I must protest. You are asking me to just let my prisoners walk out of here. What about my reputation?"

"Your reputation, such as it is, will be perfectly safe, Kommandant." As always, Hochstetter pronounced the title as though he wanted to grind each syllable into dust. "This camp will be surrounded by..."

"A ring of steel." In the barracks, three voices joined him in perfect unison.

"What a pillock," added Newkirk.

"Yeah." Hogan folded his arms, and frowned. "But that pillock just stymied our plans to get those two RAF men out of here. They'll be watching any vehicles driving in and out of camp, including the dog truck."

Hochstetter was still talking. "In order to divert suspicion, we must allow the prisoners to believe this is just a routine visit. I will leave Stalag 13, making it seem I have returned to Hammelburg. In fact I will join my men outside the camp. You will notify me by short-wave radio if there is any suspicious activity."

"But, Major Hochstetter..."

"Or would you rather send me a postcard, when you get to Stalingrad?"

Klink didn't even draw breath. "Major, if there is anything you need during your watch - blankets - coffee - a little _Schnaps_ to keep out the cold..."

"Thank you, Klink. I knew I could count on your co-operation. Now, it is vital that Colonel Hogan and the men in his barracks are kept under close surveillance. You must assign your most reliable man to this duty."

"That would be Sergeant Schultz," said Klink.

Hochstetter gave a low growl. "Well, it cannot be helped, we will have to make do. For the next forty-eight hours, I want to know every move Hogan makes."

"Don't worry, Major. You can rely on me."

"That's what worries me the most," snarled Hochstetter. "_Heil Hitler_."

Hogan unplugged the coffee pot. "We've got a big problem."

"It figures," grumbled LeBeau. "Just when we have the whole thing organised, Hochstetter has to come and mess it up. He's always hanging round."

"Yeah, he's here so often, maybe we should invite him to Newkirk's birthday party," added Carter.

A startled silence fell across the group. Newkirk broke it first: "And which birthday party would that be then, Andrew?"

"Nice going, big mouth," muttered LeBeau, glaring at the culprit.

Carter hung his head, peeking up through his eyelashes. "Sorry. I forgot he wasn't supposed to know about it."

"You were going to throw a party for me?" Newkirk gazed at his mates, a slow smile dawning. "Well, that's...that's nice. No, I mean it, I'm really chuffed, even if Carter did spoil it."

"Well, I didn't mean to," protested Carter. "Anyway, we can still have a party, right?"

"Of course we can. Think I'm going to say no to a birthday do?" said Newkirk. "Just do me a favour, and don't invite Hochstetter."

"Actually, maybe we should invite him."

Three sets of eyes turned towards Hogan. "Sir, are you feeling all right?" stammered Carter, after a few seconds.

"Never better," replied Hogan.

"But Hochstetter doesn't like parties," LeBeau protested.

Hogan's left eyebrow went up. "Don't worry," he said. "This will be one shindig he won't want to miss."


	2. Chapter 2

No matter what game Hogan and his men were playing, the opening strategy was critical. In this case, the Krauts had made the first move, but they had squandered their advantage by deploying Schultz.

"You know the hardest part?" remarked Kinch, as he stood outside the barracks with Hogan and LeBeau. "Pretending we can't see him lurking round the corner. It's all I can do not to ask him what the weather's like over there."

"I think he's getting bored," said LeBeau. "Or hungry. With Schultz, there's not much difference, they both lead to food."

"Then let's give him something else to think about." Hogan moved a little closer to the end of the hut, where a visible fold of blue topcoat fabric gave away Schultz's hiding place. "Okay, there's nobody close enough to listen," he said, raising his voice just enough for the eavesdropper to hear every word. "Are we all set for tomorrow night?"

"On schedule, Colonel," replied Kinch. "Carter's just making sure we've got everything we need. If we can pull it off, I reckon it'll be about the biggest blast this place has ever seen."

"And you're sure there's been no breach in security? We don't want the Krauts finding out what we're up to before our mission's been accomplished."

"Don't worry. The _Boche_ don't suspect a thing," said LeBeau. "Someone's in for a real surprise, _mon Colonel_."

"Yeah, I guess we're all going to get a bang out of it," chuckled Hogan. "Now, whatever happens, don't let Schultz find out. You all know what a big mouth he has, and I don't want the whole enterprise compromised because of..." He broke off abruptly, then advanced a few paces, and peered around the corner. "Hi, Schultz. Looking for something?"

"Who, me? No, I'm just...standing here...admiring the scenery." Schultz gazed at the guard towers with an innocent air which fooled nobody.

"You were listening to our private conversation," said LeBeau, glaring at the guard.

"Not that there was anything to hear," added Hogan quickly. "You didn't hear anything, did you?"

"I hear nothing, nothing."

Kinch and LeBeau exchanged convincingly apprehensive glances, and Hogan rushed into speech again. "Oh, I believe you, Schultz. But if you had heard what we were talking about, I can explain. We were...we were planning a party. Isn't that right, fellas?"

"Sure, that's it, a party."

"_Mais oui_. A party, what else?"

"A party?" Schultz's forehead puckered. "But Kinchloe said something about a blast. Not that I was listening, of course."

"That? Oh, that's just...uh...that's what we call it, back home, when we have a really great party." Kinch produced the explanation with the air of a man not accustomed to ad-libbing.

"I never heard it called that," muttered Schultz, his frown deepening. "What kind of a party?"

"That's a good question," said Hogan. "And the answer is...it's..." He hesitated for a second, then went on, as if he'd just come up with it: "Newkirk's birthday."

"Yeah. That's right," added Kinch hastily. "Newkirk's birthday."

Schultz peered at him, his jowls tightening. "Nobody told me anything about a party for Newkirk's birthday."

"That's because it's a surprise party," said Hogan.

"Oh, a surprise party. That's very nice," replied Schultz; then after a few seconds. "Does he know about it?"

"Of course not. Why do you think we didn't tell you, Schultz? We were just waiting till the last minute, so you wouldn't let the cat out of the bag."

Schultz acknowledged the justice of this with a heavy shrug. "It's true, I am a terrible blabbermouth. You did the right thing, not to tell me. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. So, it's tomorrow night, is that right?"

"For someone who hears nothing, Schultz, you sure pick up a lot," remarked Kinch.

"When it comes to war, or to parties," replied Schultz, with a philosophical air, "it pays to be vigilant."

The meditative silence which followed this didn't last long. "I got 'em, Colonel," announced Carter at the top of his voice, as he arrived amongst his pals with all the subtlety, and at least some of the impact, of a poorly aimed mortar shell. "Half a dozen of the most beautiful eggs you ever - oh, hi, Schultz, how's it going?"

Schultz peered at him, instantly suspicious; the switch from wild enthusiasm to nonchalance had been so beautifully overdone. "What are you talking about, Carter?"

"Well, I...well, it...well, I just..." Carter stumbled over his words as he searched for an answer.

"It's like he said, Schultz," broke in Hogan. "He went to get some eggs."

"He did?"

"I did?"

"Sure. Can't make a cake without eggs," said Hogan. "And you can't have a birthday party without a cake."

"A birthday party? Who said anything about a..." Carter ended in a squeak, as LeBeau elbowed him in the ribs.

"It's okay, Carter," Kinch put in. "We already told Schultz about the _surprise birthday party_ we're throwing tomorrow. You know. For Newkirk's birthday."

"But it isn't..." Carter began, before another dig from LeBeau brought him up short. Schultz stared at him, his features contracting into the anxious frown which, in his case, usually indicated either suspicion or indigestion.

"Well, it's been nice talking to you, Schultz," said Hogan, after a few seconds of embarrassed silence. "But we've still got a lot of preparations to make for tomorrow night. You know, for the party. Now, remember, not a word to anyone. We want it to be a surprise."

"Oh, _ja, ja_," mumbled Schultz, and he watched with an air of bemusement as Hogan and his men went back into the barracks.

"That should get the ball rolling," remarked Kinch, as soon as the door was closed.

Hogan grinned. "Let's make sure of it. Newkirk, you know what to do. Go out the back window, so he doesn't see you coming out of the barracks."

"On my way, sir," replied Newkirk cheerfully, and went, while Hogan and the others retired to the office, where they could listen to the conversation.

"Morning, Schultzie. How's the war treating you, then? Listen, you haven't seen Colonel Hogan around anywhere, have you?"

"He went into the barracks."

"Did he? Well, I'd better go and look for him there."

"No, no, Newkirk. You can't go in there."

"Why not? There's no rule saying a man can't go into his own barracks, is there?...Come on, Schultz, get that enormous Germanic backside out of the way, and let me past."

"No, please, Newkirk, I cannot let you go into the barracks. They are all in there, making the arrangements for tomorrow night."

"Come off it, Schultz. They can't make any arrangements if I'm not there, so...Hang about, how do you know about tomorrow night?"

"How do _you_ know about tomorrow night?"

"Well, how would it look if I didn't know? I'm supposed to know. But you...have you been spying on us again?"

"Me? Spying? Oh, that's a terrible thing to say, Newkirk. No, Colonel Hogan told me all about it."

"Oh, he did, did he? I didn't come down in the last shower, you know."

"No, it's true. He just told me all about the birthday party."

"Look, Schultz, if there's one thing I know, it's that Colonel Hogan wouldn't tell you...what birthday party?"

"The surprise birthday party they are throwing for you tomorrow night. You didn't know about it? Oh, I spoiled the surprise. Now they won't invite me to the party."

There was a momentary pause, before Newkirk answered, a little too effusively. "Never mind, Schultzie, it was an accident. Tell you what, I'll pretend like I don't know nothing about it. That way, Colonel Hogan need never find out you let it slip."

"Oh, thank you, Newkirk. You're such a nice person, I wish all our enemies were like you."

Newkirk chuckled. "Give 'em a chance, Schultz, they might surprise you. Well, I can't stand here chatting all day. Cheerio, Schultzie."

"_Wiedersehen_...Wait a minute. If you didn't know about the birthday party, then what was it you thought was going to happen tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night?" Newkirk's voice found a new upper register, as he fumbled for a response. "Oh...ah...well...nothing, Schultz. Nothing at all. Why would there be anything else going on, when we're having a party? Oops, is that the time? Must dash."

A minute later he arrived in the office. "You should have seen the look on his face," he chortled. "Like someone not only pulled the rug out from under him, but took the whole bleedin' floor while they were at it. As soon as I left him, he scarpered for Klink's office as fast as he could go."

"Looks like he got the idea," said Hogan. "Let's listen in."

"I was starting to think we'd been a bit too obvious," remarked Kinch, as he plugged in the coffee pot, and placed the receiver on the desk.

LeBeau gave a scornful laugh. "With Schultz, you can never be too obvious."

"_Herr Kommandant_, request permission to come in." Schultz's voice came through the speaker.

"Yes, come in, Schultz," said Klink. "Anything to report? I saw you talking to the prisoners. Did you find out anything about an escape plan?"

"_Nein, Herr Kommandant_."

"Anything about the escaped prisoners from the other Stalags?"

"_Nein, Herr Kommandant_."

"Anything suspicious at all?"

"_Nein, Herr Kommandant._"

Hogan sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Never mind being too obvious. Looks like we weren't obvious enough."

"Well, if you've got no information, why are you here?" Klink's rising impatience sent a crackle through the speaker.

"Please, _Herr Kommandant_, I only wanted to ask if I can have tomorrow evening off, to go to the party."

"Party? What party?"

"The surprise party for Newkirk's birthday."

"Colonel Hogan hasn't requested permission for a party."

"No, because it is mean to be a surprise, _Herr Kommandant_. Apparently it will be the biggest blast this place has ever..."

"What did you say? A blast? They're planning an explosion?"

"No, no, _Herr Kommandant_. A blast is what the Americans call it, back home, when they have a really great party."

"I've never heard it called that. Are you sure that's what they meant, Schultz? Tell me everything they said."

Schultz cleared his throat. "Let me think. They talked about being on schedule, and Colonel Hogan didn't want the Krauts to find out - that's us, _Herr Kommandant_..."

"I know, I know."

"And they said something about getting a real bang out of it. And then they found out I was listening, and they explained about the party. And then Carter turned up and said he had got hold of some eggs..."

"Eggs?"

"_Ja_, for the cake. But he didn't seem to know that was what they were for. Between you and me, _Herr Kommandant_, I sometimes think Carter is not very bright. And then..."

"Just a minute, Schultz. If Carter didn't know about the cake, what did he think the eggs were for?"

"I don't know, _Herr Kommandant_."

The listeners heard the squeak of Klink's chair as he stood up, and then his footsteps, pacing back and forth. "Maybe they weren't eggs at all. Maybe they were..._Donnerwetter_! Hand grenades!"

"Finally!" said Hogan, with an air of satisfaction. "Another couple of minutes, and I'd have gone over there and told Klink myself."

* * *

Note: The German model 39 hand grenade was introduced in 1939. It was informally known as _Eihandgranate _("egg hand grenade")


	3. Chapter 3

"What kind of a prison camp is this?" demanded Hochstetter, as he prowled around Klink's office, scowling like a bad-tempered marmot. "Explosions, hand grenades, birthday parties. You expect me to believe this nonsense?"

Faced with a Gestapo investigator in such an ill humour, any German officer worth his salt would stick to his guns. Klink, naturally, chose the path of appeasement. "Oh, believe me, Major, I wouldn't have troubled you with this, if Schultz hadn't heard them making their plans."

"With my own ears, _Herr Major_," added Schultz.

"With your own ears. Ah, well, in that case, there can be no doubt." Hochstetter's voice softened into the sandpaper-on-silk tones which warned the initiated how thin his patience was wearing. "What exactly did you hear, Schultz?"

"Well," began Schultz, "I can say without hesitation that I definitely heard the prisoners talking."

"And what did they say?"

Schultz's eyes flickered back and forth between the two officers, as he tried to figure out what was required by way of an answer, and from which direction annihilation would come if he got it wrong. Under the circumstances, he decided to hide behind his usual defence: a solid wall of complete ignorance.

"That, I am not so sure about," he announced.

Klink cast up his eyes. "This is what I have to put up with every day, Major Hochstetter. It was only an hour ago, and he's already forgotten. But ask him about the weekly special at the Hauserhof six months ago..."

"Oh, I can tell you that. It was _Schweinsbraten mit Semmelknödel_, and for dessert..."

"You see? Anything to do with food, he has total recall," grumbled Klink.

"But, _Herr Kommandant_," protested Schultz, "the dumplings were excellent."

Hochstetter dismissed the dumplings with an ill-tempered wave. "Bah! This is nothing more than a distraction."

"You mean, to divert our attention from the escape attempt?" said Klink.

"Perhaps." Hochstetter took another turn around the office. "Let us assume that your suspicions are, for once, correct. A few grenades, strategically placed for maximum panic and confusion, and while you and your guards are running around like frightened chickens, the prisoners will cut the wire and make their getaway."

Klink sprang to his feet. "Diabolical! Schultz, call out the guard. We'll soon put a stop to this."

"That will not be necessary, Klink. My men are watching every inch of the woods around this camp. So if your prisoners were to carry out this plan, they would walk right into my trap."

"But they can't be allowed to set off explosions inside Stalag 13. What if they blow up this office - or my quarters?"

Hochstetter gazed around the drabness of the office, and his lips curled into a sneer. "Then perhaps we should give them a medal, before we shoot them."

Klink drew himself up. "Major Hochstetter, I must protest." The major rounded on him with a snarl of rage, and he quickly changed tack. "I mean...well, I have a lot of personal property in my quarters, and some very valuable items. I mean, items of sentimental value. Now, I am prepared to make every sacrifice for the greater good of Germany, but couldn't we encourage the prisoners to come up with a less destructive escape plan?"

"With all due respect, _Herr Kommandant_, you are an idiot," growled Hochstetter. "You have allowed yourself to be taken in, as usual. The fact that explosives are involved indicates that this is not an escape plan, but something much bigger, and very much more serious."

"What could be more serious than an escape from Stalag 13?"

"Sabotage. For some time we have been trying to find out why there are more acts of destruction committed in this sector than any other part of Germany. I suspect that the saboteurs have their base in this very camp. Your prisoners, Klink."

Klink inflated like an indignant, monocled tree-frog. "Sir, that is an outrageous suggestion. It would be impossible for my prisoners to carry out any such activities without my knowledge."

"Oh? So you admit, you knew of this? Tell me, Kommandant, how long have you been working with the Underground?" Hochstetter smiled, a narrow, malevolent Gestapo smile which seemed to increase the ambient temperature by several degrees, centigrade.

It certainly made Klink sweat. "I haven't... I mean, I didn't... I mean... All I meant was, it seems such a preposterous idea. This is the most secure prisoner of war camp in all of Germany. How do you imagine the prisoners could carry out such activities when they are under constant watch? We never relax our vigilance, not for a minute."

"So I see."

Hochstetter looked past the Kommandant, a derisive smirk on his lips; and as Klink followed the line of his gaze, he went pink with rage. "Schultz, wake up!"

Schultz jerked upright, with a familiar cry: "I know nothing!"

"That I can believe," replied Hochstetter, grinding his teeth.

Before he could rend Schultz limb from limb, the door flew open. "Good afternoon, Kommandant. Can I come in?" said Hogan, with his usual good-natured briskness.

Klink jumped as if he'd been jabbed in a tender spot with a well-sharpened pencil. "Hogan, you know you're not supposed to come barging in here unannounced."

"I'm sorry, sir, didn't know you had company. Major Hochstetter, always a pleasure to see you. How's tricks?"

"Perhaps I should be asking you that very question, Colonel Hogan." Hochstetter's eyes glittered as he studied the American, whose careless confidence and overly familiar manner he found so infuriating.

"Oh, you know, same old routine. Nothing exciting ever happens round here," said Hogan, with a shrug

"Which is just how it should be," Klink interjected. "Now, as you can see, Hogan, I'm far too busy with Major Hochstetter to see you right now, so..."

But Hochstetter silenced him with a single gesture. "I assure you, Klink, I have no desire to interrupt your work. Please, Colonel Hogan, go ahead."

"Well, it's nothing urgent," said Hogan. "I just wanted to make a request on behalf of my men. They'd really appreciate it if lights out could be an hour later than usual tomorrow night."

"Request denied," snapped Klink.

Once again, Hochstetter overruled him. "One moment. I'm sure Colonel Hogan has a very good reason for making this request. Perhaps you should hear it before you make your decision."

Hogan gave him a cheerful smile. "Thanks, Major. The thing is, we're holding a parcheesi tournament, and we'd hate to have lights out right in the middle of the finals. It's a pretty big event. Some of the competitors have been in training for weeks."

"Really, Hogan? You expect me to believe your men would be so dedicated to a simple board game?" Klink uttered a scornful laugh.

"You ever played sudden death parcheesi?" Hogan countered. "Well, let me tell you, it's not for the faint-hearted. One ill-judged throw of the dice, and the whole thing can turn into a bloodbath. Not that it'll happen here, of course. We're not allowed guns, for a start." He grinned at Hochstetter again, then allowed his gaze to drift past the major to focus for a few seconds on the map of the district which was mounted on the wall.

A faint, calculating smile twisted the corners of Hochstetter's mouth. "So, Hogan, your request is perfectly innocent, no?"

For a few seconds, Hogan's attention stayed on the map. "Huh? No...I mean, yes, that's right, Major. Perfectly innocent."

"I find this interesting, since we have received information suggesting that you and your men have something else planned for tomorrow night."

Hogan directed a reproachful look at the source of the information. "Couldn't keep it to yourself, huh?"

"It slipped out," mumbled Schultz apologetically.

"Okay, you got me," said Hogan, turning back to Hochstetter. "One of my men has a birthday tomorrow, and we wanted to throw a little party for him. There's nothing suspicious about it."

"Of course, nothing suspicious at all," agreed Hochstetter. "But there is something I do not understand. If it is indeed so innocent, why not ask the Kommandant for permission to hold a birthday party? Why make such a mystery of it?"

"Well, because..." Hogan glanced at Klink, embarrassment written in every line of his features. "You see, it's kind of awkward. My mom always says it's bad manners to tell someone about a party if they're not invited. And we couldn't ask you to come along, Colonel, because we know how strict you are about the non-fraternisation rules. So we thought it was best not to say anything at all."

"I see," said Hochstetter, quite mildly. "Well, that explains everything. I am completely satisfied. Klink, what about you?" There was a subtle note of menace in his tone, and a malevolent gleam in his eye, as he referred the matter to the Kommandant.

"Me? Well, I...that is...if you're satisfied, Major Hochstetter, then there's nothing more to say," replied Klink, finishing with a nervous giggle.

"So does that mean we can have an extra hour of light tomorrow?" said Hogan.

"Well...I think..." Klink looked at Hochstetter, and received a curt nod in reply. "I think I can grant permission, just this once."

The sunshine of relief spread across Hogan's face. "Gosh, sir, thanks. Can I go and tell my men?"

"Yes, Hogan, dismissed," replied Klink; and Hogan, after another brief but searching look at the map on the wall, took himself off.

"Did you see that?" Klink burst out. "He couldn't keep his eyes off the map."

"Of course I did," snapped Hochstetter. "He appeared to be identifying the location of some landmark. A bridge, perhaps, or a railway yard, or some other suitable target for sabotage."

"But that would mean..." Klink's response faltered, as the full implication hit home.

"Exactly." Hochstetter started pacing around the office again. "It means I was wrong. If Hogan was in fact planning an act of sabotage, he would never have made it so obvious. No, this is another ruse, he has something else in mind."

"I think I understand."

"No, Klink, you have no idea." The timbre of the major's voice suggested it wasn't just his fists which had clenched. "Hogan is engaged on some deep plot. To throw us off the track, he creates layer upon layer of fiction. The parcheesi tournament, the birthday party, the escape plan, and now this idea of sabotage - all of them just diversions, to cover his real intention."

Klink nodded, his brow wrinkling. "And what is his real intention?"

"That we have yet to discover. We must continue our surveillance."

"Of course. Schultz, you will continue to watch..."

Hochstetter cut him off. "I will send two of my own men, disguised as guards, to carry out this assignment. They are less likely to be distracted by talk of parties."

"But, Major Hochstetter..." Klink's protest withered rapidly under the blistering heat of Hochstetter's glare. He swallowed, blinked, and finished flatly: "You can be assured of my full co-operation."

Hochstetter gave a short, mirthless laugh. "I knew I could count on you, _Herr Kommandant_."

* * *

"Did they buy it?" asked Hogan, joining his men around the coffee pot in his office.

"Well, if your plan was to get a pair of Gestapo men assigned to watch our every move," said Newkirk, "then it seems to have worked."

"Seems to me like it's going to cause some trouble, Colonel," added Kinch. "It was bad enough having the Gestapo watching from outside camp. Now we'll have them breathing down our necks."

"Two Gestapo men?" Hogan's eyes gleamed. "I thought we'd only get one. Two makes it just perfect."

"I don't get it," said Carter. "How are we supposed to get Clarke and May out of here with Hochstetter's goons watching every move we make?"

"Don't worry," replied Hogan. "Thanks to Hochstetter, neither the Gestapo nor our own guards will look at them twice."

* * *

Note: _Schweinsbraten mit Semmelknödel_ - roast pork with bread dumplings.


	4. Chapter 4

_My apologies for the long delay in posting._

* * *

Hochstetter chose two of his most reliable and experienced men for the dangerous task of watching the prisoners; tough, battle-hardened, with stern, square faces and flinty eyes. Amongst the guards of Stalag 13, they were as inconspicuous as a pair of Rottweilers at a guinea pig convention.

"You'd think Hochstetter would be smart enough to send along a couple of guys who'd fit in," remarked Kinch, early in the afternoon. He was watching at the door, as one of the phoney guards walked slowly past.

"Well, to be fair," said Newkirk, "he can only work with what he's got. And being the SS, all he's got is gorillas."

"Newkirk, that's not very nice," protested Carter. "Sure, gorillas might not be pretty, but they're not that bad."

Kinch opened the door a little more. "The other one's hanging round near the window of your quarters, Colonel. I guess Hochstetter told them that's where they're most likely to hear something worth reporting."

"Then it's time to move on to Stage 2," replied Hogan. "Newkirk and LeBeau, you go down below, and get those two airmen ready for departure. Kinch, keep watch, Carter, come with me."

With Carter just behind him, he went into the office and opened the window, leaving the shutter closed. For a few seconds he waited, until the sound of an incautious boot on the gravel outside confirmed that Hochstetter's goon was within earshot. Then he gave the signal to Carter, who slammed the door.

"We're all set for tonight, Colonel," he announced at the top of his voice.

Hogan's rebuke was scarcely lower in volume. "Keep your voice down."

"Sorry, Colonel," replied Carter.

"We can't afford to get careless now," Hogan went on. "We're within hours of achieving our objective, so don't lose your head."

"Are you sure we can pull it off?"

Through the narrow gaps between the planks of the shutters, Hogan saw a shadow move closer to the window. They had the gorilla's attention, all right. He quirked an eyebrow at Carter. "I think if we stick to the plan, we've got every chance."

"I guess so," said Carter. As always, when following a script, he sounded a little stilted; he was always at his most convincing when he was winging it. "Only it seems kind of ambitious. You really think we can get him?"

Hogan's eyes twinkled. He turned towards the window. "Why not?" he said, clearly and distinctly. "Trust me, Carter. We'll get Hochstetter, and maybe some of his men, as well."

Carter snickered. "Boy, wouldn't that be something?" From the sudden movement of the shadow outside the window, it seemed as if the Gestapo man thought so, too.

"It sure would," agreed Hogan. "Okay, pass the word around. We go into action straight after roll call. And remember, mum's the word. We want to make sure it's a surprise."

"Don't worry about that, Colonel. He won't suspect a thing, until we spring it on him," replied Carter. With a great deal of noisy fumbling, he opened the door and left the office. Hogan only waited until the guard outside had moved away before he followed.

"Well?" he asked Kinch, who was still on watch.

"Looks like they bought it, Colonel," said Kinch. "The one who was listening outside your window is talking to his buddy, and for an SS man, he sure looks spooked. And now he's heading for Klink's office."

Hogan relaxed into a confident, satisfied grin. "Which means he's about to use the short-wave to deliver Hochstetter's personal party invitation."

* * *

"It does give you a sort of an air, doesn't it?" said May, regarding his sinister reflection in the mirror. "Menacing. Almost evil."

Clarke snorted. "On you, maybe. I look like the ticket collector on the slow train to Manchester."

"So in your case, completely evil." May's aspect darkened, as he studied his new image. "I must say, I'm not very happy with this, chaps. It's just not British."

"That's the idea, sir," said Newkirk. "You want to pass for Jerries, after all. And Gestapo, at that, so that our own guards won't give you any trouble. Which reminds me, does either of you speak German?"

"Oh, I say, that's a bit much," retorted May, bristling.

Clarke, however, responded with a gleam of complacency. "Well, actually, I do. Before the war, I used to do a lot of business on the continent."

"What kind of business?" asked Newkirk.

"Import-export. I was in cuckoo clocks."

"Really? Cuckoo clocks?" LeBeau, who was giving May's black uniform coat a vigorous brushing, glanced at Newkirk, trying not to laugh.

"Oh, for pity's sake, don't get him started," May broke out. "Otherwise we'll be here all day, while he goes on about brass pendulums, and pine-cone weights, and how you can always recognise a fake because the cuckoo bird's eyes are too close together."

"That's rich, coming from a man whose chief topic of conversation is geraniums," said Clarke.

"Pelargoniums. And they're jolly interesting." May looked down his nose at his comrade. "Although I must admit, some chaps get a little too enthusiastic. Remember that blithering ass at HQ who came up with the idea of planting them along the sides of..."

"Hold that expression," interrupted LeBeau. "That's perfect."

May turned towards the mirror, his supercilious sneer fixed as if the wind had changed; then, after a glance at Clarke, who scowled back like a ferret with a hangover, he gave his opinion: "We look like a pair of utter scoundrels."

"That you do, sir," said Newkirk. "And that's the trick, you see. Anyone can put on an SS uniform, but you have to look like a proper villain if the guards on the gate are going to believe it."

"And do we pass?" asked Clarke.

LeBeau's eyes narrowed. "I will tell you this, _lieutenant_. If I met either of you on the street in town, and I had a knife..." He finished by drawing his thumb across his throat. Clarke took a slight step back, but a smile broke across May's pleasantly vacuous face, as if he'd just received an unexpected present.

"Oh, I say, Corporal" he replied, in all sincerity, "that's jolly decent of you."

* * *

As the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, Hogan assembled his men for a final briefing. He wasted no time in preliminaries.

"What's the situation with those two Gestapo men?" he asked.

LeBeau, who was on watch, answered him. "Back on patrol, _colonel_. They look nervous."

"Any sign of Hochstetter?"

"Not yet."

"He probably won't turn up until it's almost time for roll call, but let me know if he shows." Hogan turned to Newkirk. "What about Clarke and May?"

"Ready to go on the word, sir," replied Newkirk. "They've got their uniforms, papers and instructions for contacting the underground."

"What about transport?"

"All set," said Kinch. "The motorcycle's waiting behind Klink's quarters. As soon as the coast is clear, Newkirk will take them through the tunnel."

"And you've alerted Schnitzer?"

"Yes, Colonel. He'll meet our guys at the crossroads, and take them on to the safe house."

Hogan nodded. "Good job. Now for the important part. Carter?"

"Yessir. I got everything organised - balloons, streamers, the works," said Carter, glowing with excitement. "I even made paper hats for Hochstetter and his goons."

"I hope you made them in black," observed Newkirk.

Carter ignored the interruption. "The only thing is, I didn't know what to do about party games," he went on. "I mean, after what happened the last time. Honest, who'd have thought you could get in so much trouble playing Hunt the Thimble...and we never did find the darned thing, so..."

"Don't worry about it, Carter." Hogan's eyes gleamed. "I don't think this party needs more than one game. Okay, roll call is in three minutes. You all know what to do. Oh, and there's one more thing. Newkirk..."

"Yes, sir?" said Newkirk.

Hogan grinned. "Happy birthday."

* * *

_Note: although our favourite "blithering ass" specified geraniums in his plan, he almost certainly meant pelargoniums; and we have Hogan's word for it about the eyes of the cuckoo bird. _


	5. Chapter 5

At seventeen hundred hours, a nondescript black van came through the main gate and stopped, with a crunching of gravel, in front of the Kommandant's office, where a man in a black trench coat, his collar turned up and his hat drawn down over his eyes, slid out and hurried into the building.

As LeBeau had to start preparing the special meal he had planned for the evening's festivities, he had given up his place watching the door; so it was Newkirk who reported the arrival, adding his own opinion: "He doesn't seem to have got the hang of sneaking round, does he? I mean, him being a secret policeman and all. I always thought it was part of the training course."

"Hochstetter's used to making a grand entrance and scaring the pants off guys like Klink," said Hogan. "Sneaky, he's not had much practice with."

"Are we going to listen in, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

"You bet we are. I wouldn't miss this show for the world."

"If it's okay, _Colonel_, I'll give it a miss. I still have some work to do for Newkirk's birthday dinner," said LeBeau. "And Carter, since you're the one who couldn't keep your big mouth shut about it, you can stay and help."

"What are we having?" demanded Newkirk, regarding the cook with every sign of deep mistrust.

LeBeau gave him a sweet, ambiguous smile. "You want something to be a surprise, don't you?"

"There's a difference between a surprise and an absolute shocker," Newkirk shot back caustically. "And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather one of my birthday presents wasn't a week's worth of indigestion." With a final suspicious glower, he followed Hogan and Kinch into the office.

"So, what are we really having for dinner, Louis?" asked Carter.

"_Bratwurst_, with a _purée de pommes de terre_, accompanied by _sauce au jus d'oignon_," replied LeBeau briskly.

Carter's brow furrowed. "Uh, that doesn't sound like something Newkirk would like."

"I know." LeBeau's eyes twinkled; putting one over on Newkirk was a rare, but welcome pleasure. "Which is why I'm going to call it bangers and mash, with onion gravy."

"Bangers," snickered Carter. "Sounds like fun."

"I thought you'd like it," said LeBeau. "But it's getting late. So you'd better start peeling the onions."

At once, Carter turned petulant. "Why can't you peel the onions?"

"Because if I do, I'll get onion juice on my hands," replied LeBeau. "And if I get onion juice on my hands, it will make the icing for the birthday cake smell of onions. And if the birthday cake smells of onions, nobody will want to eat it, and the whole plan will fall apart."

"Well, I guess that makes sense," mumbled Carter, after due consideration.

LeBeau's dimple quivered into sight. "I knew you'd understand. So get started, and make sure you save the skins for the compost heap."

* * *

Hochstetter hurtled into Klink's office as if pursued by all the furies of Hades; and a moment later, from the coffee-pot speaker in Hogan's quarters came the sound of his first words to the Kommandant: "Close the window, quickly!"

"He sounds a little agitated," said Kinch.

"Like someone stuck a red-hot poker right up his Iron Cross," added Newkirk.

Apparently, Klink shared their enjoyment of the situation; his voice rang with gleeful _Schadenfreude _as he greeted his visitor. "Major Hochstetter, how nice to see you. I take it you're here about the information your men overheard this afternoon."

"Klink, this time your prisoners have gone too far," snarled Hochstetter. "Plotting against the Gestapo - against _me_...! It's an outrage. I will have their heads for this. I will have _everyone's_ head."

The threat sobered Klink on the spot. He prefaced his response with a short, high-pitched giggle. "I'm sure you don't mean _everyone_, Major. After all, if it wasn't for my vigilance..."

"If it wasn't for your incompetence, Kommandant, your prisoners would never be able to put such a scheme into operation. I sometimes wonder who is running this camp, you or Colonel Hogan."

At once, Klink resorted to bluster. "Allow me to assure you, Major, there is one sole and supreme authority in Stalag 13, and that man is..."

"Silence!" bellowed Hochstetter; and Klink's assertion of dominance squeaked into oblivion.

"That's telling him, Kommandant," murmured Hogan.

"Klink, this whole affair is the result of your negligence," Hochstetter went on. "I should have you shot. However, I am prepared to allow you a chance to redeem yourself."

The sharp percussive sound of his boot heels on the floor indicated that he had started pacing, as he began to lay out his strategy. "I want to catch these criminals red-handed, so that we need not be bothered with all that Geneva Prisoner of War Convention nonsense." His voice grated like gravel in a gear wheel, as he contemplated the set of regulations which made his job so much more difficult. "Now, according to what my men overheard, the plan goes into operation immediately after roll call. Presumably this means they will gather their materials together, and leave the camp in search of their target. So as soon as the prisoners have been dismissed, and before they have time to make their move, we will make ours."

"And what exactly is your move?" asked Klink timidly.

"_Our _move, _Herr Kommandant_, will be to raid Hogan's barracks, while he and his fellow terrorists are still there. In this way we will surprise them with the evidence in their hands. It will be dangerous, but I am prepared to take the risk. And as the sole and supreme authority of Stalag 13," Hochstetter finished up, "you will lead the raid."

"_Me?_ But...but...but..."

Hogan and his men exchanged grins. "I think Klink's brain just broke," said Hogan.

Newkirk chuckled. "How can you tell?"

With an effort which felt physical even to the audience in the barracks, Klink got his mental train back onto the tracks. "Major, I don't think...that is, while I fully appreciate your confidence in me...I mean, as it's a Gestapo matter..."

"Klink, you are a coward," snapped Hochstetter.

Klink's response quivered, as if a deeply offended jellyfish had found the power of speech. "I will have you know, Major, that there is not a cowardly bone in my body. As the descendant of generations of military men, courage is in my blood. But so is duty. Duty to my Führer, to the men under my command and to the prisoners in my charge. And that duty forces me to go against my own wishes. Believe me, I would like nothing better than to lead the charge, to place myself in the line of fire, to face the enemy without consideration of danger. But if anything were to happen to me, who could possibly take my place as Kommandant?"

"That will not be a problem, Klink. I hear there is a very intelligent chimpanzee at the Hammelburg Zoo. But I will offer you a choice," said the major, moderating his tone towards the menacing end of the scale. "Either you will lead the raid on the barracks, or your next command will be just outside Stalingrad."

"Don't threaten me, Major Hochstetter," riposted Klink. "There is nothing you can say which will prevent me from carrying out my duty as I see it. And as I see it, my duty is to lead the raid on Barracks 2. That's my final word on the matter."

Hochstetter gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "Somehow, _Herr Kommandant_, I had a feeling it would be."

"And that's that," said Hogan, unplugging the coffee pot. "Now all we have to do is make sure Carter's got a party hat for Klink. I think a yellow one would be appropriate."

* * *

A few minutes before roll call, Carter emerged from Barracks 2, clutching a wooden pail to his chest. He looked around in a manner that could only be described as furtive, then set off, going around the edge of the yard as if to avoid being seen out in the open.

Of course, he was spotted at once, by one of Hochstetter's men who was watching covertly from the corner of Barracks 5. He, too, glanced around, before following at a safe distance

Behind the recreation hall stood a large, square bin, constructed out of broken planks, old crates and salvaged bits of wire. Carter headed straight for this receptacle, raised the lid, and with great care, upended the bucket so whatever it contained would fall gently. He took up the blunted and rust-covered gardening fork which stood nearby, and gingerly stirred the contents around, as if to hide whatever he'd just put there. Then he grabbed the bucket and stole away.

The SS man waited only a few seconds before he approached the bin. To his uneducated, city-bred eyes, as he lifted the lid, it looked like a storage container for garden rubbish; things with legs scuttled out of sight in the corners, a couple of slugs meandered across the side wall, and a cloud of tiny black insects rose in his face, along with an unsettling smell of decaying vegetation. He drew back, then steeled himself. It was his duty to investigate.

Carter, peeping around the corner of the recreation hall, snickered under his breath as the guy began to root around in the mass of dead leaves and vegetable scraps. Hogan might have Hochstetter and Klink dancing to his tune, but Carter had pulled off a neat little trick of his own. After all, it wasn't every day that a Gestapo goon could be fooled into turning the prisoners' compost heap for them.

Pulling off a big mission successfully was always a great feeling, but sometimes the little wins were even sweeter.


	6. Chapter 6

The prisoners from Barracks 2, as they assembled for roll call in the fast-deepening dim of evening, appeared to be in an extraordinarily lively mood. LeBeau looked ready to burst into song at any moment; Carter's irrepressible state of hilarity had infected the entire back row; even the usually level-headed Kinch had got caught up in the shared sense of anticipation, and only kept his self-possession by steadfastly avoiding anyone's eyes. As for Hogan, he wore a particularly smug grin; the kind of grin which foreshadowed mayhem.

Only Newkirk remained unaffected, regarding the antics of his barracks mates with puzzled disapproval. But when nobody was watching, he dropped a wink to Schultz, and received an answering twinkle in reply. Klink and Hochstetter could suspect whatever they liked, but Colonel Hogan had said there was going to be a party tonight, and Schultz knew which story he preferred.

"No sign of Hochstetter," remarked Kinch softly.

"Of course not," said Hogan. "He'll keep out of sight until he's ready to make his move, so as not to tip us off. Which suits us just fine."

"_Herr Kommandant_, beg to report, all present and accounted for," announced Schultz. "Can I dismiss the prisoners now?"

"Not so fast, Schultz." If the sergeant of the guard was eager to get the evening's revelry started, the Kommandant clearly didn't share his enthusiasm. "Are you sure all of them are here?"

"_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_."

"Perhaps you should count them again."

"No need, _Herr Kommandant_. I checked very carefully."

"All in order? No untidy uniforms, no disrespectful attitudes, no insolent behaviour?"

"Not more than usual."

"Are any of the men on report?"

"Not one, _Herr Kommandant._"

"And is there anything else I should speak to them about before they fall out?" Klink persisted, desperately seeking a straw to grasp at. "Anything at all? Think carefully, Schultz."

"I can't think of anything," said Schultz, after a ridiculously brief pause for reflection. "Please, _Herr Kommandant_, can't I dismiss the prisoners now?"

"What's the problem, sir?" Hogan came strolling up. "You gonna keep us standing round for much longer? We've got a busy night planned."

"I know, I know," muttered Klink. "I'd like a word with you, Hogan. Schultz, dismiss the prisoners. And then report to my office."

Schultz's face fell. "B-but, _Herr Kommandant_..."

Klink interrupted, stamping his foot. "You have your orders. See to it at once." And Schultz, with a heavy sigh, went off to do so.

"Hogan," said the Kommandant. "This party - it is just a party, isn't it?"

"Why, what else would it be, sir?" Hogan gave him a wide-eyed, vaguely bemused stare. "Can't you see how excited the men are about it?"

Klink glared at the prisoners, who were crowding back into the barracks. "They certainly seem very...very...Hogan, can you assure me there's nothing untoward going on? If I...I mean, if anyone were to come into the barracks, he wouldn't find anything out of the ordinary?"

"Why would anyone come to the barracks after roll call?" countered Hogan, the picture of innocent bewilderment.

"No reason, Hogan, no reason at all." Klink hesitated, apparently trying to think of another excuse for delaying his part in the forthcoming diversion. Failing to find anything, he pinned on a fake, patronising smile. "Well, I'm sure you're very anxious to get this party started, and I have some paperwork to deal with. And then I think I'll have an early night." He gave a gaping, exaggerated yawn, covering it with his hand.

"You deserve it, sir. And we'll do our best not to disturb you. Sleep tight, Kommandant, and pleasant dreams." Hogan watched as the Kommandant strutted away to his office. Then he retired to the barracks.

The men had already made a good start, festooning the ceiling with streamers cut from old newspapers, leaving the ends to dangle wherever they fell. A dozen balloons, left over from a previous mission, drifted about the floor like a flock of multicoloured sheep. And a huge cake, flawlessly iced and decorated with far more candles than was appropriate, stood proudly in the middle of the table. Hogan didn't even speculate as to how LeBeau had managed to get the sugar for it. Some questions were better left unasked.

"Where's Newkirk?" he said.

"Already gone down below, to get Clarke and May to Klink's quarters," replied Kinch, who had set up the gramophone, and was now sorting through a pile of records. "Say, LeBeau, what do you think - Gracie Fields, or George Formby?"

"Why not ask if I'd prefer the thumbscrew or the rack?" LeBeau snapped back.

"Well, that settles it. Tommy Dorsey it is," said Hogan, grinning. "Okay, listen up, all of you. I reckon we've got between five and ten minutes before the gatecrashers turn up. Once they're here, we need to make sure we keep 'em busy for long enough for Clarke and May to get well on their way, and for Newkirk to get back here."

Carter gave a snicker. "Well, gee, Colonel, you don't have to worry about that. Keeping the goons busy is easy. Piece of pie."

"Yeah, but this pie has a couple of extra ingredients," Hogan pointed out grimly. "Hochstetter's not quite as easy to hoodwink as Klink, and those two attack dogs of his are liable to start shooting if they get spooked. So we have to play it safe. If they want to search the barracks, we let them search the barracks. If they start unwrapping the birthday presents, we stand back and watch. And if they suspect there's something hidden in the cake, and decide to break it open..."

"...then they will have to get past me first," LeBeau broke in, his eyes flashing.

"LeBeau." Hogan didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. After a few moments, LeBeau threw up his hands, muttered something about _vandalisme_, and went to deal with his onion gravy.

* * *

"Schultz, there's no point in deluding ourselves. We are going into a very dangerous situation. Our lives will be at risk."

"Oh, I don't think so, _Herr Kommandant_. LeBeau is a very good cook," said Schultz, in a tone which could be interpreted as reassuring or just plain stupid, depending upon the mood of his conversation partner.

Klink, it seemed, was not in the mood to be reassured. "How can you think about food at a time like this?" he grumbled, pacing back and forth as far as the very narrow confines of the outer office allowed.

"_Herr Kommandant_," replied Schultz, with no small measure of pride, "I can always think about food."

Klink's hands curled into the exact shape required for squeezing the chubby neck before him. "Can you try to forget your stomach for once? In a few minutes, I will be placing my life on the line. I never thought I'd be forced to say this, but..." He stuttered to a halt, gritted his teeth, and forced the final few words between his lips: "I'm relying on you."

Schultz's eyes grew round with astonished gratification. "Oh, and I will not let you down, _Herr Kommandant_. You can trust me one hundred percent. Whatever you need, I am here to carry out your orders, on the dot and to the letter. Just tell me what you want me to do, and I will..."

"You can start by shutting up," Klink interrupted. "Now, listen to me, Schultz. It occurs to me that the prisoners may have set a trap, and that when we enter the barracks, there will be a trip wire which will set off one of their grenades. And as I will be leading the raiding party...well, I don't think it's necessary to explain what would happen."

"You would be blown to pieces, _Herr Kommandant_," said Schultz, in a matter-of-fact tone. "But, _Herr Kommandant_, I don't believe there are any..."

"I know, but just in case, there's something I need you to do for me. You're the only man in this camp who I would trust with this, Schultz. Understand?"

"Oh, I understand, _Herr Kommandant_. You want me to make sure the girlie magazines in your quarters are removed before your replacement arrives."

"Schultz!" This time Klink's hands clenched into fists. "I want you to get between me and the grenade, before it goes off."

"Oh, you want me to...but...but... _Herr Kommandant_, if I do that, then it will be me who is blown to pieces."

"Yes, but with your bulk between me and the explosion, I'll have a much better chance of survival. So as soon as you see the grenade, you will rush forward and throw yourself on top of it. It's your duty to the Third Reich, and it's your duty to me."

"_Bitte, Herr Kommandant_," mumbled Schultz, "I am not very good at rushing forward. I don't think I will be able to get in front of you before the grenade explodes."

Klink gave a bright, falsetto laugh. "Oh, come now, Schultz, you'll have a full four seconds. I'm sure you're not that slow."

"I can be, if necessary."

"Schultz, I'm ordering you..."

"Klink!" Hochstetter exploded from the inner office, bristling with fury, his men at his heels. "What is taking so long? You were supposed to report to me as soon as the prisoners were dismissed."

Klink jumped like a startled rabbit, and swung round. "Ah, Major Hochstetter, I was just on my way in to inform you that Hogan and his men are all in the barracks."

"Are your guards ready?" growled Hochstetter. "Then it is time for action. Lead the way, _Herr Kommandant_."

"Yes," said the Kommandant faintly. "Lead the way."

"And don't worry. I will be right behind you," Hochstetter concluded. And with such a dire threat hanging in the air, Klink had no choice. He tucked his riding crop under his arm, and went to meet his fate.


	7. Chapter 7

With Hochstetter at his heels, followed by the two SS men, a couple of the least incompetent guards, and Schultz bringing up the rear, the Kommandant advanced upon the barracks by way of an extended detour around the back of the motor pool and past the dog pen, where the German Shepherds acknowledged the group's presence with a chorus of growls and a fine display of bared teeth.

"Klink, is it necessary to go on a complete tour of the camp?" said Major Hochstetter, as Klink took a left turn, diverting behind Barracks 6.

"Yes, of course it's necessary," Klink whispered back. "Would you rather march straight up to Hogan's barracks in full view of the prisoners? We need to approach without being observed, and take them by surprise. That, Major Hochstetter, is true military strategy."

"That, Kommandant Klink, is true military cowardice. Out of my way." Hochstetter pushed his way past. "It seems I must lead this action, after all. Follow me, all of you."

Swiftly, almost soundlessly, he brought his men to the corner of Barracks 2, where he paused, holding up one hand to impose silence. From within the hut could be heard a few muffled sounds; low voices, footsteps, the scraping of a chair being pushed across the floor.

"It doesn't sound like a party," said Schultz.

"Quiet!" hissed Hochstetter. He waved his own men forward. "On my signal, kick the door in."

The pair took up position on either side of the door. Hochstetter raised his hand. Before he could lower it, however, from inside the barracks came a sudden sharp report, like a pistol shot, followed by a startled squeak from Klink, and a clatter as Schultz dropped his rifle.

Hochstetter almost exploded. "Now!" he snarled

The door gave way to a powerfully-driven jackboot, and the major strode inside. He was not prepared for the greeting he received: a raucous yell of "Surprise!" followed by a deafening fanfare of improvised trumpets, ratchets and paper blowouts.

For a few moments he stood stunned, before he regained the power of bellowing: "What is this?" But his voice was scarcely audible over the din, which only died down when Hogan stepped forward, holding up his hands in a gesture for quiet.

"Okay, men, cut it out. False alarm," he said. "It's not Newkirk, it's just the Gestapo."

He regarded the gatecrashers with an amiable grin. "See, Carter?" he said, his tone as self-satisfied as the gleam in his eyes. "I told you we'd get Major Hochstetter to come to the party."

* * *

The Kommandant's private quarters lay in darkness, and apart from the oddly unmetallic ticking of the cuckoo clock on the wall, there was no sound to be heard. Even when the ornate iron stove suddenly slid to one side, it did so silently on well-oiled runners, allowing the cautious appearance from below of a blue RAF cap.

"All clear," whispered Newkirk, as he ascended with an agility born of practice, and stole across the room to the window. He drew back, as the searchlight from the guard tower passed across the front of the building, shining briefly on the likely-looking pair of thugs in SS uniforms who had followed him out of the tunnel.

"I say, it's rather ghastly, isn't it?" said May, as he took in his surroundings before the spotlight moved on. "Reminds me of that frightful bed and breakfast I stayed at in Bognor Regis on my last leave. Never been so miserable in all my life. I always suspected the landlady was a bit of a fascist at heart, and now I'm sure of it."

Clarke had noticed the cuckoo clock, assessing its quality with the eye of an expert. "Oh, dear," he chortled. "Who on earth sold him that?"

"Begging your pardon, sirs," said Newkirk, with exaggerated patience, "but when you've finished composing your essays for _House and Garden_, perhaps you might like to get on with escaping from Germany."

"Sorry, corporal," said Clarke, not noticeably contrite. "Where's this motorcycle, then?"

"It should be waiting out front." Newkirk went back to the window and peered out. "And there it is. Now, before you set off, we just need to make sure Hochstetter's out of the way. So while you're getting yourselves settled, I'll have a butcher's around the corner. If the coast is clear, I'll give you the nod. All right?"

"Jolly good." May turned to his crewmate. "I'd better drive, old boy. The last time you tried to ride a bike, you came off it before you'd gone twenty feet."

"Only because one of the pedals fell off," Clarke protested. "But if you want to drive, that's quite all right with me."

Newkirk had gone to the door. He eased it open, but closed it at once. "Oh, blimey, that's torn it," he muttered, and retreated to the window to observe the leisurely progress of the guard who had come into sight from around the corner of the building, and was now dawdling along as if he had nothing better to do.

"Do you think he suspects something?" whispered Clarke, peering out past Newkirk's shoulder.

"Langenscheidt? No, not a chance. He should be gone in half a sec," replied Newkirk. But Langenscheidt, reaching the motorcycle, came to a stop, staring at it with a vague, puzzled frown, and then looking back and forth as though seeking someone to ask about it.

"Bugger it," said Newkirk. "We can't hang about. He could spend all bleedin' night adding two and two together, and still end up wondering if the right answer's five. I'll have to shift him."

"How are you going to do that?" asked May.

"It won't be hard. Langenscheidt might not the strictest goon in the place, but if he sees me come strolling out of the Kommandant's quarters, he's bound to do something about it. So while he's busy running me in, you can hop on the bike and scarper."

May's brow crinkled like a concertina. "Won't you get into trouble?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that, lieutenant. It's quite nice in the cooler this time of year."

The two lieutenants exchanged glances. "But, corporal," said Clarke, "it's your birthday."

Newkirk shrugged. "If you've got a better idea, I'm listening."

Clarke looked at him, then at May. "Well, actually..."

Three minutes later, two men in black SS uniform came out of Klink's quarters, and strode up to Langenscheidt, who stared at them in the manner of a startled fawn taken unawares by a couple of hungry-looking bears.

"_Heil!_" snapped Clarke, with a more than passable assumption of SS arrogance. "We are requisitioning this vehicle."

May, who spoke no German, stuck his thumb in his belt, studying the corporal with a look of distaste which wouldn't have been inappropriate if he had just encountered an oversized earwig.

"B-but this motorcycle is only available for the personal use of Kommandant Klink," stammered Langenscheidt. "You cannot take it without his authorisation."

Clarke drew himself up, which still left him half a head shorter than his opponent; but he made up the difference in pure belligerence. "That is of no importance. We have orders from Major Hochstetter to return to Hammelburg for reinforcements. How do you suggest we get there, if we don't have transport?"

Torn between the immediate consequences if he refused and the prospect of Klink's outrage if he gave way, Langenscheidt wavered. "Could you not take the major's staff car?" he suggested.

"Without his permission?" Clarke, getting into his role with a surprising degree of dramatic flair, gave a short laugh. "I don't think so. But if you want to suggest it to him, go ahead. Otherwise, get out of the way."

"The Kommandant will be furious. What am I going to say to him?" said Langenscheidt, as he stepped aside.

"Tell him nothing. This is Gestapo business," replied Clarke, inserting himself into the sidecar, while his companion took his place behind the handlebars. "If he asks, you never saw us, and you don't know where his motorcyle is."

Langenscheidt, watching this brazen act of misappropriation, had turned his back on the building, giving Newkirk the chance to make a stealthy exit. He crept to the corner, and peered across the yard. Sure enough, the door of Barracks 2 stood wide open, and from within could be heard the unmistakeable tones of Major Hochstetter giving his usual performance, with an occasional high-pitched interjection from the Kommandant. Newkirk glanced at May, and jerked his head towards the gate.

The bike motor uttered an asthmatic cough, before coming to life, and Clarke sent a brief salute towards the hapless Langenscheidt. "Don't worry, we'll send it back," he said. "Well, probably. _Heil Hitler_." And the cycle and sidecar trundled off, leaving a dazed and disheartened guard staring after it. Newkirk watched too, until it cleared the gate and disappeared along the road to town; then he straightened up, and strolled away, with an air of calm self-satisfaction.

He had every reason to be pleased with himself. After all, it was his birthday, and he had a party to go to.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hogan, I don't know yet what kind of game you are playing, but I will find out."

Hochstetter, standing toe-to-toe with the man he considered his arch enemy, held up one forefinger to emphasise his warning. It was a wasted gesture; Hogan never seemed to understand when he was being threatened, and he appeared more apologetic than intimidated.

"There's no games yet, Major," he said, "The games can't start till the guest of honour gets here. But I can promise you, they'll be worth the wait. In the meantime, can I interest you in some canapés?"

"Canapés? What nonsense is this?" snarled Hochstetter.

"Can't have a party without snacks. Okay, so they're just K-ration biscuits topped with canned cheese and Spam out of our Red Cross packages, but Addison spent all afternoon making them. LeBeau was busy with the birthday cake. And actually, they're not bad."

"Never mind that," said Klink, pushing his way in front of Hochstetter. "Hogan, just now a gun was fired in this barracks. Hand it over at once, and no monkey business."

"A gun?" Hogan immediately donned a beautifully convincing air of ingenuous bewilderment. "You're kidding, right, Kommandant? What would we be doing with a gun?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Hogan. I heard the shot from outside."

"Oh, that? Did you think it was a gunshot?" said Hogan, chuckling as enlightenment dawned. "Sorry, sir, but it's kind of funny, when you think about it."

"I fail to see anything to laugh at in this, Hogan."

"Oh, you will, sir. You see, it was just an accident. One of the men..."

"It was my fault, Kommandant," put in Kinch. "I didn't know it was there, until I stepped on it, and..."

"But let's be honest, nobody really thought it sounded like a gun going off, did they?" Hogan finished, with a twinkling glance at Hochstetter as he expected the Gestapo to share the joke. Receiving no encouragement, he gave an embarrassed cough, and went on. "Well, anyway, Kommandant, I can assure you, it won't happen again..."

As if on cue came a sharp bang from the other end of the barracks. Klink ducked for cover, taking refuge behind Hogan, and Hochstetter, uttering a furious exclamation, swung round to confront this new threat.

Hogan put his hands on his hips, and glared at the perpetrator. "And there goes another one. Can't you guys be a little more careful?"

With a hangdog air, Carter picked up the remnants of his weapon from the floor, and twisted it between his fingers. "Sorry, Colonel," he mumbled.

"So you should be. At this rate we'll have no balloons left." Hogan strode forward and tweaked the torn scrap of blue rubber from Carter's hand. "And you frightened Colonel Klink half to death."

"I wasn't frightened," asserted Klink loudly, drawing himself upright and gathering the shreds of his dignity around him. "I knew all along what it was."

Hochstetter's eyes glittered. "So, Hogan, this is all a misunderstanding. There was no gunfire, it was just a bursting balloon. And there is nothing suspicious going on. You are just having a birthday party."

"That's right, Major. Just like I told you," replied Hogan.

"Just like you told us. And I know you are a man of your word, Hogan," said Hochstetter. "So we will leave you to enjoy your party. That is, after we have searched the barracks."

A chorus of objections broke out among the prisoners, with Hogan's voice rising above the others in plaintive descant: "Aw, gee, Major, you're gonna spoil everything."

"That's his job, Hogan," snapped Klink. "Schultz, begin the search - what are you doing?" His voice turned shrill, as he noticed Schultz had retreated to the corner where Addison was standing guard over his contribution to the proceedings.

The sergeant of the guard turned, a suspicious bulge in his cheek. "_Bitte, Herr Kommandant_," he mumbled as soon as he was able, "I have already begun the search, and I can report that the canapés are harmless, and very tasty."

"Schultz!" Klink's face darkened to an apoplectic red, which caused the target of his rage to swallow hastily, wipe his fingers on his coat, retrieve his rifle from Addison, and rush into action.

The other guards, and Hochstetter's pair of heavies, had already set to work, stripping the bunks, emptying the lockers and clearing the improvised shelves and cabinets; while the prisoners, for whom this was a familiar occurrence, watched with varying signs of bored resignation. Only when the search approached the birthday cake did any resistance arise, as LeBeau placed himself firmly in front of the bigger of Hochstetter's goons and prepared to defend his handiwork.

The SS man stared down at this chest-high menace as if wondering whether to shoot it or swat it aside. LeBeau, head tilted back, silently dared him to try either course. And Klink, almost paralysed with outrage at the Frenchman's effrontery, somehow managed to utter something between an order and a plea: "Get out of the way, cockroach."

"Take it easy, guys," said Hogan. "I mean, it's just a cake." LeBeau turned a blistering glare on him, and he made a rapid qualification: "A beautiful cake, in fact a work of art. But it's not a matter of life or death."

LeBeau appeared ready to refute this assertion; but Hochstetter got in first. "We'll see about that," he growled. "Stand aside."

"And if I do not?" LeBeau shot back.

Before Hochstetter could respond, Hogan intervened again. "Okay, let's all keep calm. LeBeau, let them search the cake. We'll still be able to eat it afterwards."

"But it's Newkirk's birthday cake, Colonel," protested Carter. "We can't cut it if he's not here."

"Oh, don't hold back on my account, chaps."

Every head in the barracks turned towards the door, or rather towards the bunk nearest to it. Newkirk, unfazed, continued to lean against the corner post, a cool smirk on his lips.

"How long have you been there, Newkirk?" demanded Klink.

"Couple of minutes, sir, but I didn't like to speak up, as you all looked so busy," replied Newkirk. "You know how I hate being the centre of attention. So, what's all this then?"

"Just a little get-together, in honour of your birthday," said Hogan, with a grin. "I bet you never knew you were so popular. Even the Gestapo turned up."

"And very nice of them it is, too, sir." Newkirk met Hochstetter's fulminating glower with unimpaired good humour.

"Bah!" Hochstetter turned on his heel, and gestured towards the cake. "Break it open!"

Pushing LeBeau out of his path, the SS man took out a knife, and soon reduced the cake to a mass of rubble resembling the aftermath of one of Carter's specials.

"_Herr Major_, there is nothing suspicious here," he reported.

Hochstetter made a low grumbling noise. "Keep looking."

"Yes. Keep looking," echoed Klink. "Schultz, go and search Hogan's quarters."

With a long-suffering sigh, Schultz trundled into the office. He emerged a minute later bearing a large, covered platter. "I have found something, _Herr Kommandant_," he said.

Carter sniggered. "Hey, Schultz found the bangers!"

The reaction was all anyone could have hoped for, and more. "Bangers?" screeched Klink. "Get rid of it, Schultz. Quickly, before it goes off!"

"But, _Herr Kommandant_, it is only..." Schultz got no further. Hochstetter barked an order, and retreated towards the far end of the room, while one of his men, with admirable presence of mind, snatched the dish from Schultz's hands and raced out of the barracks to plunge it into the brimming water barrel standing by the door.

LeBeau burst into shrill expostulations, and had to be forcibly restrained by Kinch and Carter from launching an attack on the brute. Newkirk fell into helpless laughter, as remonstrations poured forth from the rest of the men.

"Okay, pipe down," bellowed Hogan, and the tumult died down almost at once into a tense silence, which was broken after a few seconds by the mournful voice of Sergeant Schultz:

"_Ach, du lieber_. Now the sausages will be spoiled."

* * *

Midnight had come and gone before Hochstetter finally accepted that there was nothing to be found in Barracks 2, and even as he stormed off back to town, he remained convinced of the existence of an even deeper plot, and determined to get to the bottom of it, sooner or later. Klink retired to his quarters, to spend the rest of the night in the company of his own doubts and uncertainties; Schultz, grieving over the fate of the _Bratwurst_, took himself off as well.

Had he known that LeBeau had been prudent enough to keep a reserve supply in the tunnel, he might have hung around. As it was, he took the rest of Addison's canapés with him, as a kind of solace.

Now, in the early hours of the morning, Hogan and his team were gathered in his office, awaiting news from Hammelburg. The shattered remains of the birthday cake lay on the desk; it was messy, but still tasted fine.

"Credit where it's due, LeBeau," remarked Newkirk, scraping up a spoonful of cake and icing. "That dinner wasn't half bad, and I do like a nice bit of Madeira cake."

"That was a _génoise_," said LeBeau, his brow lowering.

"Oh." Newkirk didn't say any more, but he laid down the spoon, and his expression spoke of vague disappointment.

"What's the difference, anyway?" asked Carter.

"They're spelt differently," replied Hogan, with a soft laugh. "Well, Kinch? What's the news?"

Kinch had come into the office. "Clarke and May made the rendezvous, Colonel. By tomorrow they should be halfway to the coast."

"Another pair of satisfied customers." Hogan stood up and stretched his shoulders. "Okay, I think we can call it a night."

"Couldn't agree more, Colonel," said Newkirk. "I'm just about ready for bed. But before I go, I'd just like to say, even though the Gestapo did their best to spoil it, it was a lovely party, and I really enjoyed myself."

"It was kind of fun," remarked Carter. "Say, maybe we can do it again some time. Has anyone else got a birthday coming up?"

LeBeau groaned softly, and Kinch shook his head. But Hogan smiled.

"I don't know, Carter," he said. "But next time, I think we'll make it easy on ourselves and go out to dinner instead. Planning a party is too much hard work."


End file.
